


Inference

by filenotch



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: M/M, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filenotch/pseuds/filenotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tom Paris and Chakotay meet up again at the 20th anniversary of Voyager's safe return, Tom finds himself remembering their illicit moments in the Delta Quadrant. But Chakotay wants to know why Tom, a successful holonovelist, is sticking around Starfleet Headquarters after the memorial is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inference

**Author's Note:**

> Relies on the canon events of the last two episodes, but not necessary.

Tom Paris looked down at Chakotay where he sprawled on the sofa, admiring the full head of silver hair, and handed him a drink. He took a seat on the chair. They looked at each other. Chakotay raised his glass, and Tom followed suit, using only his expression to ask what they were drinking to.

"Absent friends."

"Absent friends," Tom agreed, and reached to touch the rim of his glass to Chakotay's.

They drank for several long moments, not speaking.

"Thanks," said Chakotay at last. "I had no idea how to get out of that reception."

"It's a skill. I've gotten good at it over the years. You think it's bad to be trotted out for Voyager anniversaries? Try a promotional tour for a holonovel."

"You didn't have to drag me out with you. Seriously, thank you."

"Please, you can't imagine how good it is to sit like this. No reporters, no aspiring holoprogrammers asking where you get your ideas."

Chakotay didn't answer, but Tom didn't mind. He let the quiet stretch.

Eventually Chakotay asked, "So why are you really here?"

"Excuse me?"

"They don't usually pull one of these things for fewer than eight major crew members. This was just you, me, Janeway and Tuvok. The three of us are here all the time."

Tom didn't answer the question. Instead he asked, "How are you doing? I mean really? It's been two years now."

Chakotay looked at him pointedly. "And you and B'Elanna split when? Six months ago? I think I've had more time to _process_ than you."

"Ah yes, _acting counselor_."

They were slipping into very old and very bad patterns. Tom didn't like the script. "I'm sorry," he said, attempting to forestall any further devolution of the evening. "I haven't seen you since Seven died. I'm not sure I told you how sorry I was. I heard it was bad."

Chakotay blew out a sigh. "It was bad. She never had a full understanding of her emotions, once the Doctor removed the Borg implant that dampened her ability to feel them. She had no perspective."

"Like a child," Tom said, thinking about his daughter. "I remember the toddler years."

"Actually, that was the easy part," said Chakotay. 

"She'd had emotions for sixteen years," Tom said, then interrupted himself. His own daughter was eighteen, a year in to the Academy. Sixteen had not been one of the easier phases. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Did you know, she tried to break off with me after our third date because she was afraid she would cause me pain?"

Tom shook his head at the irony. Suicide was the worst pain to inflict on another. "You loved her, Chakotay," he said firmly.

"It wasn't enough."

"And it wasn't your fault." Tom reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses.

They sat in silence again, and Tom looked at Chakotay, who was lost in his own thoughts. They looked like heavy thoughts, and his face showed more weight of time than the three years since Tom had seen him last. At the fifteenth anniversary of Voyager's return, Chakotay hadn't looked a minute older than the day they came home. B'Elanna had caught Tom looking that night.

Chakotay caught him, this time, but he said, "And how are you doing? How's the single life? You adjusted in the last few months?"

Tom thought for a long moment. Truth was dangerous. Part of him, however, was still a reckless kid. He said, "I'd been as good as single long before she left me."

"What happened?"

"Remember the fifteen year reunion?"

"Yes."

"She asked. I told her."

Chakotay sat up from his sprawl. "Everything?"

Tom nodded. He'd told her more than he'd ever told Chakotay.

Chakotay blew out a long sigh. "No wonder you two split up." 

"Yeah. She said that because I'd never told her, it felt like we'd been cheating on her the whole time we were married. It didn't matter that we never..." Tom drained his drink, bent his head, closed his eyes, and remembered.

*****

"She may put pips on your collar, Paris, but I know what you are."

Tom flinched only slightly at the glowering eyes, and recovered by pulling himself into full attention. "I am an acting officer of this crew," he said, "and I have every intention of fulfilling that obligation to the best of my ability. Sir."

"See that you do," said Chakotay, leaning too close, managing to make Tom feel as if he were not, in fact, the taller of the two. He didn't like the feeling, and it made him respond in kind.

"That's very funny coming from the Maquis Captain." Tom straightened himself again and looked down the slight height difference at Chakotay, pulling his head to an angle that made his disdain clear.

Chakotay's eyes narrowed. If this were a Maquis ship, Paris might have expected to be thrown against a bulkhead. Since it was not, he waited to see what the consequences would be. 

"I am first officer of this ship," Chakotay started.

"Quite a come-down from captain," Tom said in his most innocent voice.

"Paris," Chakotay hissed.

"Stop it," Tom said. He dropped the military posture and leaned back on Chakotay's desk. He looked pointedly around the XO's office. "Listen to me, Chakotay. You have no idea what happened to me, but I will tell you right now that I never sold out the Maquis. I decided you were stupid, yes, but I never sold you out. Getting on Voyager was my only way out of a penal facility. If I'd sold you out, I wouldn't have been in that prison in the first place."

"So you say."

Tom crossed his arms over his chest. "Why aren't you this mad at Tuvok? He was the real spy. Is it because he never sucked you off?"

As Tom expected, Chakotay started to lose his composure, his temper, his ability to stay within the boundaries. He crossed the distance between them. 

"Damn you."

"That's not what you said last time. I remember hearing, 'More, more.'"

His arm shot out to take Tom's neck in hand. It was possible Chakotay would kill him for bringing it up, for pushing like this. Unlikely, but possible. Tom leaned into the hand around his throat, turning the threat into a caress and stepping closer. "Miss me?"

Chakotay froze, then moved his hand from Tom's neck to his shoulder. Tom bent down and pushed his nose under Chakotay's uniform collar, licking and nipping at the skin unable to reach the part of the neck that he knew would shift Chakotay's anger. It appeared he was close enough, and Tom breathed in the sudden scent of arousal, and finally let himself remember everything he'd suppressed since Chakotay beamed on board with Ayala and a bad attitude.

Chakotay remembered, too, pushing on Tom's shoulder in an ungentle, familiar request. Tom obligingly sunk to his knees and unfastened Chakotay's uniform pants. On the verge of pulling them down he looked up from under his brows. "You might want to lock the door, Commander."

Chakotay gave the command to the computer with a groan as Tom pulled out his semi-hard cock and took all of it into his mouth, using tongue and suction to bring it to full mast. As the cock hardened, he backed off and took the shaft in his hand, concentrating the attention on the head that was emerging from the foreskin.

That always got to Chakotay, and it had been one of the few things Tom liked to remember from otherwise stupid decision of joining the Maquis. Soon, Chakotay would be losing all that hard-won control, moaning helplessly.

Chakotay threaded his fingers through Tom's hair, his breathing ragged, a short groan with every exhalation. Tom teased him for a full minute, pulling the foreskin up with his lips, then tonguing underneath it. It was almost more than Chakotay could stand, he knew.

He pushed his head down before Chakotay could do it for him, bringing his lips to meet his fist, and then stroking with mouth and hand. It was artless, but it was effective. Chakotay's staccato, wordless noises told Tom to prepare, and he backed off so that head of the cock was in his mouth, his fist pulling the orgasm out until the gentle buck of the cock head warned him. He sucked then, so hard that it almost hurt, drawing a shout from Chakotay.

Tom swallowed it all, holding the cock in his mouth and hand until the last aftershocks had passed, then released it and tongued across the tip to catch the last drop. He sat back on his heels. The entire encounter had lasted about five minutes. Tom rose and moved toward the door, stopping mid-way and turning to face Chakotay at parade rest. Chakotay did not turn until he had dressed, and when they faced each other again, Tom said, "Do we understand each other, sir?"

He could see Chakotay's eyes drop down to see if Tom was aroused or stained, or something. There was nothing to find. There might have been, once, but for now this was about informing Chakotay that Tom would take only so much distrust.

"You will be held to the highest standards, Mr. Paris."

"I expect nothing less. I can assure that my performance will exceed Starfleet standard." He couldn't resist adding, "I'm sure you'll recall what I'm capable of, Commander."

Chakotay looked angry, but Tom knew him well enough to see that part of the anger was self-directed. Chakotay unlocked the door and said, "I don't think I'll require a repeat demonstration. Dismissed."

Chakotay might not think he required it, Tom thought as the door closed behind him, but he would want it. Tom was sure he would want it.

*****

It was a long moment, but neither moved, and then Tom groaned and hoisted himself to his feet. "Knees aren't what they used to be," he said. He took the bottle and refilled his glass, adding a splash to Chakotay's as well.

"You know," Chakotay said, as Tom took his seat again, "I was surprised to hear about the divorce."

Tom looked into his glass, swirling brown liquor for a moment before answering honestly. "I was surprised it lasted as long as it did."

"You loved her."

"Oh, I did. In the end, I think I loved her more than she loved me."

"I wouldn't say that."

"What, did she talk to you?"

"Up until a few years ago. That must have been about the time you told her. I thought I'd pissed her off at the reunion. Anyway, B'Elanna had a hard time with the attention you were getting for your holonovels and the traveling you did. I never could convince her that every negative trait of every woman in your novels was not meant as a comment on her."

"Yeah, I heard that, too," said Tom. "After I told her about you - us," he corrected himself, "she got depressed again."

"I know what that's like."

Tom said, "Yeah, I guess you do," and hid behind his glass. At least B'Elanna was still alive.

"You want to know the worst thing I said to Seven? I asked her why the Doctor hadn't given her an on/off switch for her emotions."

Tom winced. "Uh-oh."

"Yep. That was a mistake." Chakotay's voice was flat, but the mere fact that he'd brought it up at all told Tom how deep the memory cut.

They sipped in silence for a few moments.

"But it was good, wasn't it?" Tom asked, meaning both of their marriages. "There were a lot of times we were happy."

"It's hard to remember, sometimes. But, really, it's all I try to remember, now. When I think about it, we were mostly happy until the Borg took those two planets out in the periphery."

"There was nothing you could have done," Tom said again. "I guess she didn't like to be reminded about what she was. Did she," Tom hesitated, knowing his question approached dangerous ground, "did she miss the Collective or carry guilt by association?"

Chakotay shook his head. "I never told anyone how she died. I'm not supposed to."

Tom began to put it together. Chakotay had only said that Seven committed suicide. He'd never said how. Right after the memorial service, Starfleet and the Federation announced that the Borg had been crippled. All the pieces clicked. "Suicide _mission_ ," he said.

Chakotay held up a hand and said, "I didn't tell you."

"Right," Tom answered. "I guessed."

Chakotay leaned back, looking at the ceiling. "She left me a recording before she left. She had come to believe that the only thing she could do with her life was to end it, but to avoid pointless waste, she planned to end it by sacrifice. She was saving me from her, and saving the Federation from the Borg. Do you know what she said? Only she could do it, could deliver the virus to the Borg. She never lost that arrogance."

Tom said, "I'm not in Starfleet any more, remember? I have no idea what you're talking about." 

Chakotay looked at him. "B'Elanna didn't tell you?"

"B'Elanna wouldn't tell me what she had for lunch if Starfleet so much as hinted it might be classified. She was entirely paranoid that I'd forget something was secret and work it into a holonovel." Tom sighed, and said, "Not without reason."

Chakotay chuckled. "Yes, I recognized Species 8472 in one of your stories."

"You've played them?" Tom asked, letting the subject change.

"Every one. You're a good holoprogrammer. I sometimes wondered if I could see myself in some of the characters."

"Here and there," Tom agreed, "but any relation to persons living or dead..."

"Is merely coincidental," Chakotay finished. "I know."

"About the virus," Tom prompted. He really wanted to know.

"Remember Admiral Janeway? Not our Kathryn, but the one that came in from the future and sent us home?"

"How could I forget her. I couldn't imagine our Captain turning into that person."

"Her plan was to stay behind, be assimilated, and infect the Borg with something she was carrying in her blood."

"However many years from now. But it won't be necessary, will it?"

"No. That Admiral Janeway told Seven of Nine everything she was planning, and I do mean everything, not just about the virus. If we hadn't gone back when we did, if we'd taken the twenty-six years it took that other Voyager, Seven would have died on a mission after she and I had been married only three or so years. Tuvok would never have been cured. I would have died shortly after returning home."

"How?"

"Broken heart." Chakotay snorted once, bitterly.

"Wait," Tom said. "If you made it home in that time line, and you and Seven married within a few years of when you started dating, you would have been living without her for almost twenty years already. That doesn't make sense."

"It didn't to me, until a couple of years ago. Until she died, I never missed Voyager."

"But," Tom began, and then stopped. He had been about to protest that Seven died saving the entire Federation, that Chakotay seemed to have managed to recover, or some such platitude. Then he remembered that he had never, really, understood how the man thought.

He looked up at Chakotay, only to find him looking back, seeing for the first time a hint of smoke in his expression.

*****

He could feel Chakotay's teeth on his shoulder. There were never lips without teeth, and no place for kissing in what they did. He had been opened roughly, but at his own invitation. They had been sitting at the controls of the shuttle, hours away from Voyager in a boring bit of space and he said, in as casual a voice as possible, "So, are you ever going to fuck me?"

They hadn't touched each other for months. The last encounter had left them sprawled in a Jeffries tube, their hands sticky on each others' dicks. Tom had sacrificed a sock to clean them both up, then earned three blisters through the rest of his shift from the rub of boot on bare skin.

The question hung in the air between them for at least ten minutes, and Tom was not stupid enough to repeat it. The last time he pushed an issue, he'd ended up spending a month on the worst duty shifts possible to a chief pilot, to the point where even Janeway had wondered what he'd done to piss off the XO. The cold war had been broken on a mission where they had been given a room to share with but one bed. Tom always wondered if the desire to leave the sheets unstained was what had led Chakotay to swallow for the first time.

He smiled to himself, remembering the look on Chakotay's face, a quizzical expression of 'Oh, that's not so bad.'

"Pretty smug, aren't you Paris?" Chakotay said, interrupting his thoughts. 

"Not smug. Just remembering."

That was not the right answer. "Remembering what?" Chakotay said, the tone of overt control carrying more warning that an outright snarl.

"You." 

" _What_ about me?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"That's not an easy question to forget."

Tom had asked it to goad him. They had never fucked, not in the Maquis, not in four years in the Delta quadrant, and he didn't expect they would, but he said, "Got an answer? Never? Now?"

"Now."

It wasn't what he expected. He expected to be put down, pushed aside, derided, and maybe jerked off, if he was lucky. He had never thought Chakotay would take him up on the offer. All he said was, "Engaging autopilot."

He rose from the pilot's seat and stepped toward the back of the shuttle, stripping as he walked. He sat on one of the bunks to take off his boots, then removed his trousers. Naked, Tom stretched out on the bunk, waiting for Chakotay, lazily rubbing himself to erection.

Chakotay rose a moment later. When he turned, Tom could tell his display had the desired effect. Chakotay's face flushed, and he closed his eyes for a moment. It looked to Tom as if he were gathering his resolve. Tom turned over, turned his face away, and presented his buttocks without making it stupidly obvious what he was doing. A moment later he felt a hand on his ass.

He said, "There's lubricant in the medical kit. I can replace it without it becoming a formal record."

The hand on his ass stilled, as if Chakotay had suddenly realized the full implications of what they were about to do. The shuttle's internal sensors recorded audio and video, but Voyager didn't analyze the records by computer algorithm any more, and only stored them for six months, the Captain having deemed it a waste of computer power now that there was no way to feed into the data banks at Starfleet for general analysis.

Tom waited while Chakotay calculated the odds of the recording coming back to haunt him, then felt him move away from the bunk to rummage in the storage area. Tom did not turn to look.

"Is that all you want, Paris?" Chakotay's voice accompanied his hand, a finger sliding wetly between Tom's cheeks to circle around the nub of his entry. "You just want to be fucked?" Chakotay's long middle finger slid into him all the way, and, in surprise, Tom let out an uncontrolled noise.

He gave no other answer. There was no right answer. He spread his thighs, then pulled his knee up, allowing easier access. He hoped Chakotay knew what he was doing, or the next few minutes were going to hurt like hell.

The finger slid in and out, joined within a few moments, too soon, by another. Tom hissed involuntarily. He felt little pleasure in the preparation, but he had hope. He felt Chakotay's other hand on the small of his back, rubbing circles, helping him relax. It wasn't enough, and a moment later Tom felt the weight shift on the bunk, the change in temperature on his skin, and the blunt tip of Chakotay's cock pushing inside.

This time Chakotay hissed. Tom knew he had to be near-painfully tight. He forced himself to relax against the burn, refusing to give any indication of how much it hurt. It had been years since he had done this, and now he wondered why he wanted it. Chakotay worked his way inside in a series of short thrusts, then stopped, sinking his teeth into Tom's shoulder.

From the trembling and the way he was breathing, Tom could tell Chakotay was fighting not to come. Chakotay let more of his weight fall on Tom and reached around and under. Tom knew he would find him limp after that travesty of foreplay, and waited to see how Chakotay would react.

"Don't you want this?" he asked. Tom couldn't read his voice. There was too much mixed into it.

"I asked for it, didn't I?"

Chakotay bit at his neck, holding the rest of himself still, letting them both adjust, his fingers pressed lightly behind Tom's balls. When he began to move, Tom realized that the man knew exactly what he was doing. He withdrew slowly, then thrust in, corkscrewing his hips and hitting Tom right _there_ and reminding him of the reason he had posed the question. Chakotay pulled back again, and with the second thrust his fingers pressed in, trapping Tom's prostate and making it hurt the best way possible. Tom heard sound ripping out of his own mouth as Chakotay thrust again, palming his balls and his lengthening cock. He kept Tom's cock bent down, limiting his growing erection.

"You asked for it, all right," Chakotay growled, now in complete control of himself, and of Tom. This was far more than Tom had bargained for.

"Fuck," he said.

Chakotay only snorted, passing up the obvious joke, and leaned in to bite his shoulder again.

*****

"In that other time line, I would have had Voyager to live for." Something about the look in his eyes told Tom that some parts of Voyager mattered more than others. "When we would have returned, we would all have scattered," Chakotay said, and then did not finish the thought. "Well, it never happened, and I'm still here."

Tom could never imagine Chakotay breaking over loss, even in an alternate time line. Looking at the expressions on his face, Tom realized that Chakotay would not have thought it either, but that he believed what that future Janeway had told him. 

"What do you live for now?" Tom asked, then looked away and mentally kicked himself, because he was asking as much because he was a writer who liked to figure out how people thought, as because he was a friend who wanted to offer an ear. No, he corrected himself, meeting Chakotay's eyes when he looked up again. I want to know how _he_ thinks.

Chakotay said, "Not much. I teach, and sometimes they let me teach an extra course in how to infer culture from tactics and vice-versa, but I'm not sure any of the cadets quite believe you can understand art and protocol from analyzing how someone fires on your ship."

"I don't know," Tom said. "I always thought you were guessing."

Chakotay shot him a look. "You, too?"

"Kidding. I remember what happened with the Taklan."

Chakotay swirled his glass and said, "That was a lucky guess."

Tom looked up to see Chakotay grinning at him. He stuck out his foot. "Go ahead. Pull the other leg." He was content to let the subject change away from painful memories.

To his surprise, Chakotay took him by the ankle and removed his boot. He rubbed his thumb firmly on the arch of Tom's foot. Tom almost pulled back, but managed to stop himself. "You keep doing that, I may never leave."

"This is your hotel room."

"I meant Earth," Tom said, and instantly regretted it.

Chakotay put Tom's foot back on the floor, and rose. "It's late," he said, his voice even.

"I'm here for the rest of the week," Tom said, toeing off the other boot and rising to walk him to the door. "Maybe we could have dinner? Kathryn invited me to her apartment tomorrow, but maybe the night after?" He hoped he sounded casual.

"I'll cook," Chakotay said, "which is better than Admiral Janeway will do."

"Sounds good."

"There's one condition."

"Name it." Tom cringed internally. He didn't want to sound too eager.

"You tell me why you're really visiting Starfleet Headquarters."

Tom let himself smile. "If your clearance is high enough, Captain."

"I'm sure it is. Thanks for the drink. Drinks," Chakotay corrected. "Wednesday?"

"Wednesday. You're sure you're all right to get home?"

Chakotay gave him a genuine smile. "Nice try."

*****

Distantly, in the small part of himself that wasn't focused on just how deep he could get, just how to flex his hips to make Chakotay make that noise again, in the miniscule corner of rationality, Tom wondered if he could get his hands on a dermal regenerator in time.

His chest and neck were covered with bites, and it wouldn't do to show up on a date with B'Elanna with another man's teeth marks.

Chakotay twisted underneath him, then threw him off, flipping Tom on to his face in the bed. He leaned over Tom's back to grab a pillow, then shoved it into place under Tom's hips. There was almost no time between positioning and penetrating, and Tom and Chakotay both groaned.

It had been months since they were last together, the day before Tom and B'Elanna nearly died, drifting in space. They had sucked each other off in a dark corner of the shuttle bay and parted without a word. Two weeks later, Chakotay had cornered him in a turbo lift and said, "I heard a rumor." 

Tom answered, "You heard right," and since that moment he had suspected this was coming. He buried his face in his arms canting his hips back and not bothering to stifle his groans as Chakotay bit down the line of his spine. Flexing to follow the vertebrae with his teeth, he sunk deeper in, and Tom spread and pushed back. Chakotay's teeth moved back up his spine, settling sideways on the back of his neck, like a cat with a kitten, or a terrier with a rat.

He knew this might take a while. When Chakotay switched from bottom to top in mid-fuck, he could last forever. Tom had nothing but the near-uncomfortable friction of the fabric of the pillow on his cock, but he was still so very hard, his foreskin stretched too tight to move around him. He could feel Chakotay's breath on his neck and shoulder, the pressure of his teeth. He could smell him, smell _them_. They remained motionless except for their breathing, and Tom wondered if Chakotay and he were doing the same thing - recording the moment in their memories.

Finally Chakotay let go of his neck, reared up on his hands and began to pump, not fast, not slow. Tom pushed back to meet each thrust until he gave in to his own need. He reached back to one of Chakotay's arms and pulled him off balance, slowly enough that his intentions would be clear. Chakotay lowered himself, stretching his chest across Tom's back and circling an arm under him. Tom reached back and stroked his face. This angle was more intense for Chakotay, but less pleasure for him. It wasn't that he wanted to hurry things along, but he didn't want to drag it out, either. He had pulled him down because he loved the feel of Chakotay's weight on him. He would miss that the most.

It would be the last time, and they both knew it.

After a few minutes Tom stopped thrusting back, and Chakotay stilled. Tom slid out from under, and nudged Chakotay to turn over. He didn't know when they had progressed from competition to camaraderie, if that's what this was, or had been, Tom corrected himself. This last time he wanted to face him, wanted not to have dominance or submission or any of the personal politics they had worked out through sex. 

He sat on Chakotay's thighs, bringing their cocks together in one hand, reaching with the other for Chakotay's nipple. Chakotay put his hand around Tom's, also reaching for the chest to run fingers through Tom's reddish hair and palm one of his pectorals. They rocked their hips, hands stroking together, until Tom started to lose the rhythm. His hand flattened on Chakotay's chest, taking his weight, and he spilled helplessly. Chakotay took some of the semen in his hand and slicked himself, holding Tom's cock as well when he began to stroke. It was nearly painful on Tom's sensitized skin, but he took it, putting his own hand around Chakotay's base, fingers reaching for the balls, stroking the perineum, and making his neck arc back until he came.

Tom watched the first hard jet that hit Chakotay on the chest, then the softer ones that landed on the broad belly. He could tell, even without knowing where each ejaculation had landed, which pools of semen were which. There was some difference in texture, in shade of white. Chakotay opened his eyes, looked down at the mess, and laughed softly. He used one finger to mix pools together, then scooped up some of the mess and offered his hand to Tom. 

Tom's head moved back involuntarily, but he caught himself before Chakotay could change expression. He dipped two fingers of his own into their mixed emissions, and leaned into take Chakotay's fingers in his mouth at the same time as he raised his own hand to Chakotay. He couldn’t quite understand it, this strange communion, but he did it, and they tasted themselves and each other, lingering a moment before practical matters claimed them.

Tom cleaned them both with his discarded shirt, taking his time with Chakotay out of some feeling he couldn't name but thought might be a close relative of regret. Chakotay rose after that, pulled on his pants, and produced from the pile of his clothes a dermal regenerator. He had planned this. 

Years later Tom would think of that moment, of Chakotay removing the traces of himself, as the beginning of his marriage to B'Elanna. For most of their life together, he kept to himself the memory of what he had chosen to sacrifice for her, and of how much more it meant because she did not know.

*****

"Sorry if I'm early."

"No, no trouble. My classes ended early today, and I skipped office hours."

Tom looked around Chakotay's apartment. It was different from the last place he'd seen, one where Chakotay and Seven had lived together. This was smaller, and bore only one reminder of his late wife. It was a hologram that changed as you walked past it. From one angle, it was Seven of Nine, Senior Project Leader, Starfleet Engineering Directorate. From the other, it was Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix Zero One, Borg.

Tom decided that they had enough history that he didn't have to start with the polite chatter. "Where did that come from?" he asked.

"Icheb. He made it for her about ten years ago. He's become quite an artist. She kept it in her office. I think she meant to remind her co-workers of her superiority in temporal mechanics. Drink?" Chakotay asked, making it clear that the subject was closed.

"Sure. Whatever you're having."

Chakotay poured wine for them. "Mind following me into the kitchen?"

"Nope. What's for dinner."

"Comfort food. Fried bread, beans. A few other things."

Tom whistled when they reached the kitchen. 'A few other things' included a pot of red-orange soup simmering on a heating element. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Like I said," Chakotay grinned, handing him a glass of wine, "comfort food. So how have your meetings been? How was the Admiral?"

"Fine and fine. Kathryn's the same as ever, although I think she wishes she'd never taken the promotion."

"They weren't going to give her another ship, and she wasn’t ready to retire." Chakotay chopped onions and put them in to hot oil. "So are you going to tell me what Headquarters wants with you?"

Tom didn't know how to start. In an oblique way, if it hadn't been for Seven's sacrifice, Starfleet would never have called him. There wasn't a good way to say it, so he opted to pretend that he didn't know what Chakotay had told him two nights ago about Seven's death. "Since the Borg are no longer a problem, and the Cardassians and the Romulans have been quiet, there are systems within the Federation agitating for independence."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You say that now," Tom said, "but didn't we meet when you were a freedom fighter?"

"Point. Lot of years since then, plus, we had something to fight for."

"Or against," Tom said. "That treaty really was a bad deal. These systems don't have any specific grievance, just a bunch of loudmouths who want to run things their own way without pesky Federation rules, despite all of them having joined willingly."

Chakotay shook his head, and Tom knew exactly what he was thinking even before he spoke. "They have no idea how lucky we are," he began, but Tom raised his hand.

"And that's what Starfleet wants from me. They want a series of holonovels based on Voyager's time in the Delta quadrant - "

Chakotay filled in the rest, "To demonstrate just how bad it can be without a Federation."

"Right."

Chakotay smiled his old wolf grin. "You're going to write propaganda?"

"Maybe."

"What, they're not paying you enough?"

"I'm not the mercenary I once pretended to be, Chakotay." Tom shook his head, "No. A long time ago I promised myself I wouldn't write about it."

Chakotay busied himself with the stove, adding cooked beans to the onions and moving the pan aside. He pulled an iron griddle out of a cabinet and set it on the heating element. "Traditionally I should use a hot rock, but I can adapt to technology."

"Cast iron is hardly high technology."

"'Ah,' says the anthropologist, 'but no.' High technology is the most appropriate tech for the job. Why use a hyperspanner when a hand wrench will do? Why build hydroponics in a temperate zone with good soil and rain?"

"Point taken," Tom said, then "because you can increase the efficiency of the overall growing area."

"Okay, bad example, but you get my drift. Besides, it just tastes better this way."

"Now that's an excuse I can accept." Tom saluted with his wine. 

"Propaganda," Chakotay said again, rolling out dough.

Tom didn't answer, simply watched as Chakotay heated fat in the pan, then put the first round of dough in to fry.

"Why did you promise yourself you wouldn't write about Voyager?" Chaokay asked after a few moments, flipping the bread over in the skillet, but not looking at Tom.

Tom's answer was long-rehearsed. He'd said to Harry, to Kathryn, to anyone from Voyager who asked. "Well, if I don't want to reveal that I'd been turned into a salamander and made little salamander babies with my captain, I can imagine there are things that other people might not want made public." 

Chakotay laughed, obviously disarmed. Tom smiled into his wine.

After that they talked about everything and nothing. Tom trotted out his favorite stories from promotional tours, and Chakotay did the same with the antics of cadets. They touched on nothing more serious until the table was cleared and the second wine bottle was empty.

*****

"Tom, we may not make it out of this."

"Right, and now we're going to have one of those conversations."

Chakotay paced their cell slowly, examining the door, the slop bucket, the barred window. "What conversations?"

"Regrets, what ifs, all of that." Tom looked at the dank walls of the Mrivan prison. "I don't have any, and neither should you."

Chakotay surprised him by answering, "I don't." 

"Oh."

"I was just going to say how I came to admire you as a fellow officer, and how happy you were making B'Elanna. Seems kind of trite now."

"Oh." Chakotay's speech was too awkward, too formulaic. Tom wondered what thought he had interrupted, but said, "Thanks. And same to you. You've done pretty well by the crew."

"I do what I can." Chakotay paused again at the window.

Tom could tell that his mind was somewhere else entirely. "Got a plan?" he asked.

"Getting one."

*****

They moved to the sitting area. Tom felt his head pleasantly buzzing with the wine, and debated refusing the offered drink. In the end he accepted, and they sat at opposite sides of the couch.

"Where do you go next?" Chakotay asked.

"Home. If I'm going to start telling Voyager stories in holoprograms, I'll need my studio."

"So you've decided?"

"They have a point. We know what it's like to be in a quadrant without a Federation."

Chakotay sighed. "It isn't perfect here. We still have the Romulans to deal with. I'm sure the Cardassians will try to reassert themselves in the next century or two."

Tom said, "In the mean time, the Benzites are agitating to crush all internal rebellion."

"There's rebellion?"

"No, there are Benzites. They always know what's best for everyone else, even if they've never met them." 

Chakotay nodded, conceding the point. "What would you write about?"

"The macrovirus, Akritiria, the Hirogen, the Quarra. Not the Borg; they've been done to death. The Quarra would probably be good. That kind of subversive slavery, er, labor acquisition, would make a good object lesson."

"I could help with that one. You were on the planet, brainwashed into thinking you belonged there, and I was on Voyager with only a crew of five left, trying to find you all." 

Tom looked at him thoughtfully. "I've never written with someone else."

"I'm due leave at the end of the term." Chakotay's voice was a study in casual. "We could, maybe, give it a try. I could at least keep you from using any of those embarrassing stories about me." 

"We could try it," Tom agreed, not looking at him, courage failing despite his words, despite his intentions. "Well," he said, setting aside his barely tasted drink and rising to his feet, "I should go. More meetings tomorrow."

Chakotay followed him toward the door. They stopped and faced each other, and Chakotay put his hand on Tom's shoulder. Tom's thoughts flashed back twenty-five years almost waiting for the hand to push him down to his knees. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, Chakotay was looking down, breathing slowly as if he too were remembering.

Tom shook his head as if to clear it. That wasn't what he wanted, although it would be easy to fall back into the old pattern. He put his own hand on Chakotay's shoulder, something he hadn't done back then, and slid the hand up his neck to curl his fingers in the short, gray hair. Chakotay looked up, and they both decided to lean in, their lips touching for the first time.

It was a tentative kiss, a moment of pressure followed by several brief meetings. Tom leaned in for more, but Chakotay pulled back, gracefully enough that Tom was not left feeling awkward. 

"Well," said Tom, "I'll go. We'll be in tou - "

"No." Chakotay looked resolved. "You don't have to leave."

For once, Tom knew when to keep his mouth shut. He let Chakotay walk him to the bedroom, his eye following the hologram of Seven from Borg to human. Chakotay called the lights to low, and they undressed each other, kissing between garments, and each noting the changes time had wrought.

They got into bed with no sense of urgency, the wine and age together working to mellow them both. They wrapped their arms around each other, and kissed, discovering the one pleasure they had never indulged. 

Between kisses, Tom said, "I can get a new studio on Earth." 

"Los Angeles still has holoproduction facilities." Chaoktay took Tom's lip in his teeth, sucked, and let it go.

"I'll need access to old Voyager records." Tom gave an answering bite, and they punctuated each sentence with their mouths.

"It's not a bad commute."

"And I can keep an eye on my daughter at the Academy."

"But not too close an eye."

"She'd hate that."

"I had her in my Intro to Tactics. She likes me."

"She told me."

"Yeah?"

Tom pulled back enough that he could look at Chakotay's face.

"Her exact words were, 'What are you waiting for, Dad?'"

Chakotay laughed and rolled on top of him. "I knew she was a bright girl."

"Smarter than me."

Chakotay reared up on his hands and looked down, his face suddenly intent. "I don't think so. You've always underestimated yourself."

Tom wondered where the change in mood came from, and he didn't have an answer. He reached up and pulled Chakotay down. It looked like he was going to have time to find out what made the man tick, but part of him hoped he would never entirely succeed. 

For the moment, it was enough to analyze how he kissed, and infer from that.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a RAINN donation by Britta. Beta by mandragora and whitecrow


End file.
